


Little Crawling Things

by Hopetohell



Category: Wounds (2019), Wounds - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Gore, Injury, Knives, Reader-Insert, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27640786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: Will’s got something nasty inside him, something from the other side. There’s still time to save him, but you’ve got to be quick.
Relationships: Will (Wounds)/Reader, Will (Wounds)/You
Kudos: 4





	Little Crawling Things

Look at how Will snaps, how he snarls, deep in the bed. How his hands clutch at the headboard, how his nails break and tear as he leaves grooves in the wood. How the roaches crawl and creep from the wound under his arm. He is vast, and terrible, and cruel even now. 

Something else looks out from behind his eyes, once fine and clear and all for you, the way he’d watch you undressing in the lamplight, the way he’d smile softly when you secured the knots around his wrists. He’d float a little in the liquor haze but always, always his eyes on you, smiling. 

He isn’t smiling now. 

He says _let me out and I will rip you open; I’ll make you into a doorway. A passage. I’ll crawl out from this mouth and into yours; it’ll feel so good, gorgeous, when I’m all the way inside you._

He won’t, he can’t, _you_ can’t; but it’s so tempting when the words slip out low and sweet and cuttingly cruel, when they wind around the base of your spine until you can’t help but come closer, where you can see the bruises and raw places on his wrists from the ropes, til you can smell something deep and dark and sepulchral seeping from him. Teeth and old bones, dusty caverns, deep tunnels in the earth. 

Whatever’s left of him, the real him, sees the knife in your hand and whispers _please. Get it out get it out getitoutgetitout;_ whatever it is inside him, it isn’t finished. Isn’t ready. Get it out and it’ll die gasping on the floor, it’ll leave Will hollow and hurting but _himself._ If you’re quick. Because you must be quick; every second it grows stronger, bigger, more ready to live in this world. _Get it out._

And you cut, and he screams two screams: one low and roaring, trains in a tunnel, power and hate and _oh_ it is coming for you. And the second, underneath, a wispy high-pitched whine like wind in the canyons, the true parts of him that beg and plead for you to remove this monstrous interloper and make him _Will_ again. 

He’s gasping, blood on his lips, dark ichor on his teeth, and as you reach into his armpit with your bare hand you feel something wriggling, something nasty and slimy and _agitated_ and you pull it free; it writhes weakly on the floor and stares up at you with a single baleful eye. It screams like cracking ice when you crush it under your heel; it’s out, it’s gone, it’s _meat._

And Will is there, so weak, so big and somehow hollowed, breath whistling through him. He’s too weak to talk, to laugh in relief, to do much more than watch you with tight pain-hazed eyes but he is _there._ And when you grip his fingers in your own he squeezes back.


End file.
